No Other City
by Kid9535
Summary: Just being patriotic with my idea of Singapore in APH version with his insecurities and his stiffness, interacting with other countries and just trying to get by. Rated for later chapters. Drabble multi-chap
1. The Kopi Grows Cold

Uhm, I should explain this. After a year or so of lurking, I've decided to come back out with a story I wrote last year. Because I'm patriotic. I'll be uploading the chapters a day at a time but I've got about 12 and the last chapter I've written, I've planned to make into a saga of its own.

I'm supposed to be working on other things. But I'm not. I'm being patriotic and um, yes. Patriotic. This is how I see Singapore, struggling to find an image and dragging himself through life a day at a time, interacting with other nations and trying to secure his future and preserve the past. This is my country. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own APH, I don't own the title (I ripped it off an anthology of local lit) and I don't own Singapore. I do own a Singapore passport.

**No Other City**

The Kopi Grows Cold

Singapore chatted amiably to the stall owner as he waited for his kopi to cool. The words fell off his tongue in halting tones, he was using a dialect he had known since birth but sometimes he hesitated to search for the word. Little by little, the knowledge of the different dialects faded away from his mind. He considered watching Chinese operas again but he decided he had better things to do.

As he chews his kaya toast, he watches the cars creep onto the road the same way the sun emerges over the horizon. He finishes his breakfast and thanks the stall owner. Then he is off, to join the rush hour, to wage through the MRTs and buses and ERPs, leaving behind the slow placed world of the Kopitiam.


	2. Just Trying to UNderstand

I should probably state a few things about the Singapore I write about. I imagine him as a guy in white, (Like the PAP) with black hair combed really smooth and slick and glasses. He's Chinese, but he's got a tan and he's got all kinds of characteristics of Indian, Malay and Eurasian people.

I realize the title is bad. And that I made a thousand different kinds of typos in the previous chapter. Bear with me. (Btw, Kopi is Coffee. So Kopitiam is 'Coffee Shop')

Just Trying to UNderstand

At UN meetings, Singapore votes just like everyone else and brings up at least one point, sometimes two, which other countries acknowledge out of courtesy. Nonetheless, Singapore pats himself on the back, reminding himself what a long way he has come to reach this seat at this table of experienced elitists.


	3. Friending Should've Been Easier with FB

I could just dump this and run. So I will.

Friending Should've Been Easier with FB

Singapore knows a lot of the other countries still don't know who the hell he is and when they apologize and make a big deal of being amazed at him being so successful despite being such a small country, (even if they aren't), he smiles. It is okay, he says, because I am simply a little red dot on the map.

"But you have at least one of my people living at your house!" Of course all other countries house at least one person from another country, what with globalization.

"Thank you," Singapore says. Then as he always does, he stretches out a hand and adds, "Let's be friends." Though he's said it a million times over, he has to say it again. So he says it again.

And he is glad his outstretched hand is taken every time.


	4. That Bear Stole All The Good Razors

I made Hong Kong call England 'Eyebrows'. IS THAT A CRIME? D8

Oh and the title is a joke from the not-so-recent bear activity that happened…in October?

http:/ www. newser. com/story/102874/ (Can be read there after you remove the spaces)

That Bear Stole All The Good Razors

Singapore catches Hong Kong looking curiously at him one time.

"We have to work hard," Hong Kong says in an unexpected show of chattiness. "We must prove Eyebrows wrong." Singapore nods because he's used to agreeing with everyone.

After a moment's thought, he points to his own eyebrows, "Did you try shaving them?" He asks not unkindly.

"They grow back," Hong Kong replies with a shrug.

"Mine too. Quite troublesome aren't they," Singapore says with a sigh. Then he clamps his mouth shut before he launches into his bad habit of complaining.

Somewhere else, England sneezes.


	5. Japan's House Is Actually A Lot Smaller

Singapore has to deal with scholars. And the tipping bell curve. No…NO WAIT, NO DON'T…there goes my A1.

And the title is because I was confounded when I went to Japan on a school trip and found the bathroom in the hotel the size of an airplane toilet. How they fit in a bathtub with a toilet bowl and sink is just so amazing, it makes me queasy even to think about it. I swear I got claustrophobia just staying there.

Japan's House Is Actually A Lot Smaller In Terms of Individual Apartments

"So this is your house, aru," China marvels at the three-room flat Singapore leads him into. "This is where my people are staying." He runs his hand over the imported furniture. Singapore can tell he wants to mention he knows where it comes from but he doesn't say anything.

Singapore offers him some koropok and they recline on his sofa and drink Yeo's green tea. Singapore and China converse in amiable tones.

"Your people are very smart," Singapore mentions as he thinks of the scholars who have integrated into his society and his schools. "Much smarter than me," he laughs.

China smiles as if he is hiding a secret," You only allow in the best after all, aru." Above them, the ceiling fan whirls contentedly.

Singapore often wonders whether China or China's people like his home. Whether they feel any connection at all, or even whether they are happy with his accommodations.

Then China opens his mouth and exclaims, "But your house really is small! Much smaller than Japan's!" Singapore laughs and knows that China fits in just fine.


	6. It's Not A Crime To Mug In Singapore

I think students are prohibited from studying in Macs (Macdonalds) during the lunch rush, but I can't be sure. I've never tried it.

Oh and the meaning of 'mug' in the title means 'to study really hard'. The other kind of mugging which involves beating people up and stealing from them is of course, illegal.

It's Not A Crime To Mug In Singapore

"This really is sweet!" America exclaims as he shovels mouthful after mouthful of ice kachang into his mouth. "And cold!" Singapore eats his slowly, though his eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when he sees America clear the mountain of ice as easy as popping a single ice cube into his mouth. "Did you make this?"

Singapore shakes his head. "I seldom have the luxury of calling something my own. But I do have Chili Crab and Chicken Rice." America seemed to ignore this and slurped down the rest of the ice and glowered, unsatisfied, into the empty bowl. "That's sad, you should get some new stuff. Like me!" He jerked a thumb triumphantly at himself. "Because I'm the hero! Say you got any MacDonalds any where here?"

Singapore laughs and leads America next door, away from the Food Court. America promptly orders ten double quarter-pounders with cheese. Singapore helps him carry the trays back to the table (even though America didn't look as if he needed help) but he notices America pouting. "What's wrong?" He asks, his arms about to give out under the weight of the food.

"The burgers are too small! How am I supposed to get full on this?" The burger America holds up is big, its huge in fact, bigger than Singapore's mouth but America eats it in one bite. "Man, I need twenty more of these," he says around a burger. Then America seems to notice something and stops.

Singapore cranes his head around and realizes he has seen that there is a large number of students in MacDonalds. "They're studying," Singapore explains.

"Studying in MacDonalds?" America exclaims it like the end of the world had come upon him. "What teenager would do that?"

"A lot of them," Singapore supplies nonchalantly. "The environment is condusive."

"B-but you shouldn't sully the most sacred act of all with studying!"

"What, eating?" Singapore wonders why the country most famous for scarfing down junk food it was an everday business would be so appalled with mixing it with studying.

"No!" America clarifies, "Eating at MacDonalds!" As if the very name of the place was sacred. "You should study in the library! Or Starbucks!"

"There's no food there," Singapore reasons. "And we're more addicted to fast food than coffee." After a while, Singapore gives up trying to explain to a raging America and states, "That's just how teenagers here are."

Of course America doesn't listen but Singapore suddenly realizes that his people, too, have at least one characteristic they can call their own. He smiles to himself at this discovery.


	7. No News Is Good News

Apparently, Singapore Newspapers suck. My friend was commenting that when she reads the Sunday Times, she falls asleep. I only read the comics and the movie times and the TV program listings.

No News Is Good News, But It Is Damn Boring

"Your newspaper," England proclaims as he flips through the Straits Times. "Is filled with bullshit."

"Mm-hm," Singapore murmurs, engrossed in the Today paper. "Politically neutral. Cannot offend anybody lah." England looks at him, "What's with that lilt?"

Singapore doesn't look up, he takes another bite of his you tiao, "Nothing what." He doesn't realize it until he's completely given himself away. "Maybe your hear wrongly? Singlish what, don't understand issit?" The sound of the spoon clattering against the table pulls Singapore away from a very interesting car ad and a complaint about the recent floods. England looks as if he'd just seen something old and rotten living in the back of his cabinet. Singapore matches his expression, but it is aimed at himslef. 'My England has gone back to England', his head choruses.

Oh shit, he thinks, I forgot. I had company. His heart sinks, he knows he will no longer be respected much less acknowledged as a nation on equal standing with the rest of the world. He had broken ties with this nation before and maintained somewhat reasonable but no less strained relations with him. There was no threat, of course, of England swooping in to take back whatever he had gained just because he had uttered a few grammatical errors. That would be completely ridiculous.

Ha ha ha.

If worse came to worse, he'd still have his people.

Who was he kidding, he thought and began to apologize.

Slowly, however, the shocked look slid off England's face. "Well," he muttered, slightly miffed. "It's not like this is the first time someone's botched up my language."

Singapore could only sigh in relief at the half-hearted pardon he was granted.


	8. The Mirror Speaks Words

OH FINALLY IT COMES OUT. This chapter (and later chapters involving Japan, and I really hope I can manage it, some Malaysia, hopefully?) is the reason why the fic is rated M. Yep, some masturbation ahead. In front of a mirror. Uhm, yes. I wrote this during O Levels okay? I was starved! (Don't ask of what.) So this monster of a fic was born.

The Mirror Speaks Words I Cannot Understand

Alone at home, Singapore stands in front of the full-length mirror he has just recently installed in his hall. He sees an image of himself wearing a stained singlet and shorts. His hair's a complete bird's nest and his clothes are soaked through with sweat from the heat, but he's smiling.

He reaches up to his face to test the smile but feels only the firm thin line of his lips. He looks down and feels only the stiff fabric of his starched office shirt and power suit. The tie around his neck suddenly feels too stiff and he longs for the freedom of his singlet and shorts. Sweat gathers at the nape of his neck despite the ceiling fan and whirring above him. He cannot escape neither the humid environment nor the suns ray which soak his land.

Then he's tugging at his tie, at his belt, at the buttons of his shirt. He slumps to the ground weighed down by a sudden feeling of being boneless. Around him, his paperwork is strewn all over the floor, a white sea surrounding his suddenly very small form. He doesn't care because the image in the mirror hasn't faded yet and the image in the mirror, the him then, never cared.

His body is suddenly all hot and flushed, not from the heat of the day, but from the longing, the want that suddenly fills him. He tentatively brushes a hand over his nipple and lets out a moan. The image in the mirror moans too. His hair is plastered to his face and his jaw is slack, eyes hooded with lust.

He swallows thickly and reaches for his zipper while he's mirror image has already rid himself of his shorts. The singlet does nothing for his modesty. He touches himself cautiously and stifles another moan. He did not expect himself to be so sensitive. Even if he had not touched himself for so long…

He presses himself against the glass so that his breath fogs up the glass with each gasp. He's moving his hand up and down his length, first slowly, then picking up speed. He reaches around with his free hand and pushes in first one, then two fingers, gasping and moaning at the strange pressure that fills him. He feels the heat rising from his toes to the tips of his hair. He's stroking himself and thrusting behind him all at once and his breath comes in short bursts, leaving moisture from sweat and saliva all over the glass and on the image's face.

The heat is building, suffocating him yet he feels like he is pressing against a wall that could break any time…just…a little more.

The wall breaks and he lets out a strangled moan at the same time, coming all over the mirror and himself. The mirror image has disappeared, leaving behind a disheveled and flushed Singapore. Behind him, the phone begins to ring.

Dazed, he stumbles over to pick up the receiver, his trousers undone and falling about his knees. He nearly trips on his way to the phone, tangled in his own trousers. "Hello," the words come smooth as butter, only he feels it is not his voice.

"Where are you?" The sound of his boss's voice causes him to blink. He remembers everything that was lost in the haze of his climax. The meeting, the suit, the mirror. He stops and his eyes make for the clock. It is half an hour past the appointed time. He apologizes profusely and says he's caught in a jam before he realizes his boss had called his house phone. But if his boss has realized he's lying, he doesn't let on.

He's let off with a warning and, surprisingly, a day off. "Don't bother coming in," were his precise orders. "You only needed to be here as a representative but the meeting is almost through. It was a short meeting." His boss adds quickly. Singapore sees through his excuse, meetings always drag on for more than an hour. Singapore allows the phone to fall from his hand and onto the couch. The sound of the dial tone carries him off to a distant shore. He glances back to the empty mirror.

He lets the tears that roll off his face bear him off towards the unknown and therefore terrifying future.


	9. Why Is It So Damn Hot All The Time?

I just realized. I've taken to titling my chapters the same way one titles a Gintama chapter. D: Oh dear.

…Details, details.

Also, thank you so very much for all the reviews! Thank you also, mklnay for getting back to me! I must try writing my version of the merger someday. Meanwhile, I'm still dealing with colony!Singapore with colonial!England.

Why Is It So Damn Hot All The Time?

The Karang-guni man parades around the neighbourhood, heralded by his horn and his truck. Singapore waves him down and waits outside the gate of his house. He helps the uncle bundle up his old newspapers and listens patiently to his complaints of how people these days don't sell their newspapers anymore.

He nods and receives the money the uncle hands him. A dollar fifty. He grumbles to himself how he could have sold it at a higher price but his people must work to survive so he bears it with a grin. He pockets the money and watches the uncle stride down the driveway, newspapers wrapped tight with raffle string like giant kuei lapis. The uncle's back is soaked with sweat but his muscles ripple and the droplets shine brightly in the light of the afternoon sun.

Singapore can only think, at least someone is happy.


	10. If The Merlion Can Spit

You know how those jokes are.

Q: What's the national bird of Singapore?

A: The Crane

'Singapore is a fine city!' And so forth.

If The Merlion Can Spit, Why Can't I, Aru?

"I'm so very sorry, but if you spit, I'll fine you $300." He says this seriously, he likes to think. But obviously China does not share his sentiments and spews out his drink in a manner that rivals the very image of the Merlion.

Then he starts laughing.

Singapore is, rather cross, being the anal nation that he is. He feels the words rising up his throat, he cannot stop himself. "Oi!" He barks, "Don't spit in my house, can or not?"

China stops laughing, his eyes widen. Singapore seems to come to his senses and winches. First England and now China? His Speak Good English campaign wasn't really working. He clenched his eyes shut in anticipation of-

-China laughing?

"You-your English is worse than mine!" He guffaws, holding his sides. The drink is long forgotten, having spilt all over Singapore's floor. He can only be thankful he has no carpets in his house.

"I'm still fining you."


End file.
